


slingshot

by Feroxai



Series: slingshot 'verse [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 10YL Bazooka but it's a broken Divine Pulse, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Incredibly Self-Indulgent, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21680587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feroxai/pseuds/Feroxai
Summary: Sylvain finds himself ten years into a future he thought he'd never see.Or: War Phase Sylvain gets hit with a wacky divine pulse and gets thrown ten years into the future, where he is confronted by a happy domestic life with Felix.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: slingshot 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642336
Comments: 109
Kudos: 740
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	1. Chapter 1

Sylvain was well-accustomed to violence and pain. Growing up, he experienced it through the machinations of his brother, the controlling hand of his parents, the ire of his instructors and the clumsiness and obliviousness of his friends. He was an old-hand at gripping a lance and thrusting it forth into the soft underbelly of monsters and soldiers. He knew just what it sounded like when he hit his mark. He’d heard people scream and beg for mercy, he’d seen faces stare him down defiantly as he brought his lance down. 

He tried not to look too deeply into their eyes.

Killing did not haunt him, but it did make him tired. It was an everlasting ache in his bones which pervaded his senses and sleep. He didn't fight for king and kingdom. What little loyalty he had wasn’t to the acting archbishop and the lost prince, but to his dear teacher and friends. 

Still, he didn’t like fighting. It didn’t matter that it was second nature to him; he still felt an unholy tug at the bottom of his stomach whenever the professor announced a new mission.

He didn’t like it here on the battlefield, but here he was: fighting for the day that he didn’t have to fight anymore. 

This particular mission was not one of strong consequences. It was just a simple clean up exercise, clearing out bandits from the plains of the monastery before they marched on towards Fort Merceus. 

He didn’t expect to see Felix struggling to hold his own against a pair of cursed beasts, nor did he expect to be shot off his horse as he rushed to assist him. He felt the slam of a Thoron against his ribs, and for a moment, he couldn’t feel his breath at all, but that moment grew longer and longer and longer. Pain may not have been a stranger to him, but it consumed his skin, his eyes, his throat, his lungs--

he felt a familiar pulse at his heart and for a moment, a brief sense of calm flowed over him

\--until he was slung towards

  
  


\--warmth. 

He felt it there, against his chest. The briefest and softest touch of feather-soft hair was born against his bare skin and he felt this unobtrusive, all-consuming feeling that he was safe, that this was where he belonged. 

Still, there was a slight nagging feeling at the back of his mind that there was something not quite right. He ignored it in favour of the wave of contentment he waded in.

He blearily opened his eyes and examined the surroundings. The place was mildly familiar. The gauzy curtains let soft beams of morning light trickle in, illuminating the room in mellow light. However, the weight on his chest was a more pressing concern than whose bedroom he was in. Taking advantage of the light and his height, he peered down towards his companion. 

He couldn’t see much from that angle. 

From the feel of their body against his, they were definitely a warrior. There was a hard and tough presence from them despite their lithe form. They were really heavy in a way that implied great muscle density.

The most obvious identifying feature was the hair-- long, dark midnight hair that was almost blue in this lighting, huh, it looked almost like Felix’s--

He was interrupted from his train of thought by a grumble from his lover. He saw a glimpse of their face, faint splotches of freckles on otherwise pale skin. As his lover moved their head once again, Sylvain flinched. Despite his reputation, he didn't often spend the night with his conquests, and he had not been in the mood to dally with anyone in a while. Intellectually, lying under a stranger wasn't the best position for him to be in.

With the war upon them, others expected him to take comfort in the embrace of women, but he was honestly more likely to spend his night alone with the darkness of his thoughts, or occasionally, watching Felix dance through his swords drills at the grounds on nights when they both could not sleep.

As if reacting from the flinch, his lover raised their head.

Sylvain felt his breathing stop.

Looking back at him was a pair of hauntingly familiar brown eyes. Eyes he had fallen in love with years and years ago.

"You said you wanted to sleep in," Felix grumbled.

"I did?" He spluttered.

"What? Is your memory succumbing to old age already?" Felix asked. Despite his jab at Sylvain, his eyes crinkled in merriment and the long and relaxed lines of his body indicated contentment on the level of a well-kept housecat.

Sylvain watched him with a careful eye. Felix seemed impossibly comfortable in his presence, in a way he hadn't seen since before the tragedy. Despite tolerating Sylvain more than Dimitri, Felix hadn't shown any signs previously that he actually wanted Sylvain around. It had stung, for years and years and years.

Contrary to Sylvain's thoughts, Felix snuggled his face back into Sylvain’s chest. His hands squeezed against Sylvain’s sides petulantly. Sylvain’s heart absolutely melted.

It stopped melting when he felt a sharp bite on his arm. He suppressed the flinch this time, trying not to jerk Felix's head off of him.

"Why did you bite me?" he grumbled. 

Felix smiled mischievously, which was a look so foreign and alluring on his face that Sylvain's brain stopped and buffered for a bit.

"Because you woke me up early after you kept me up all night," he replied smugly. Yawning, he said, "There’s no use staying in bed when we're awake, though."

Sylvain's brain froze at the words 'kept me up all night.' Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember anything between ~~dying?~~ almost dying and waking up in bed with Felix. He desperately wished he did.

Sylvain once again was distracted by this train of thought as Felix unravelled himself from his embrace and steadily rose up. The sheets slipped down his chest, exposing his radiant bare skin. 

His eyes hungrily watched the fall of Felix’s long, long hair tumble down from his luminous face towards his thighs. Alright. He _knew_ Felix’s hair was barely shoulder length-- how was it suddenly long enough to travel down the length of his back? 

Despite this scenario being what Sylvain had always desperately, desperately wanted it could not be real. It had to be a dream. 

On further inspection, Felix's hair wasn't the only thing that was different. His face was a little more weathered, and he had the beginnings of tiny little crow's feet on the corners of his eyes. Despite the gentle pillow creases pressed into his skin, he was still so gorgeous that Sylvain could hardly take his eyes off of him. 

Felix flipped his hair around and twisted it into a bun. 

“What?” he asked when he noticed Sylvain was watching him silently.

“You’re beautiful,” Sylvain said. The words came tumbling out of his mouth.

He froze after he said it. Felix had never been good at taking compliments like that-- usually, he would just sputter and hide his face away in embarrassment or unleash a verbal torrent on whoever dared to use nice words on him. But as if this older, lovelier Felix was out to prove that he wasn't _his_ Felix, his response surprised him. 

Felix chuckled. “Sap,” he said. “Married for more than seven years and your cheap mouth is still the same.”

“My mouth isn’t cheap.”

"You're right," Felix said with a smirk. "It's just easy."

He watched closely and carefully as Felix leaned forward towards him, the coy dip of his lashes enticed Sylvain’s thoughts even further. He wondered what the feel of Felix’s lips and breath upon him would be like. Sylvain moved closer to Felix, beckoned by the tiny quirk of his lips. Felix reached out and wound his arms around Sylvain’s broad shoulders, and leaned in.

What was probably intended to be a quick peck on the lips quickly devolved as Sylvain took leave of his senses and opened his mouth hungrily to Felix’s. He dragged it out: slow and deliberate, calculated and languid. Felix moaned gently as Sylvain delighted in the movement of Felix’s body against his.

It didn’t last long; Felix quickly pulled back with a satisfied look on his face, while Sylvain resisted the urge to dip him into another kiss.

Felix’s arms moved once again; his right arm slid down Sylvain’s body, lying gently on his hip bone and contentedly staying there. He had the air of the panther; he seemed satisfied by the prey in his grasp. 

“You’re insatiable,” said Felix. But he sounded very, very pleased instead of vexed. 

It was a bit off-putting, having such an open, relaxed Felix hold him in his arms. With the crimes he had committed and all the people he had hurt, did he really deserve this? 

It didn’t matter… it couldn’t be real. This older, happier Felix was probably some illusion spun by an enemy mage.

“Why are you so quiet?” Felix asked. His brow wrinkled in concern and he extended the back of his hand to Sylvain's forehead. The tenderness moved Sylvain’s broken little heart. Felix frowned harder. “I knew it, you’ve got a bit of a fever. And they say fools can’t catch colds.”

Sylvain froze. He _did_ feel warm. He hadn’t noticed it, distracted by the strangeness of this entire situation.

Felix sighed, sounding annoyed. That was a familiar sound. “What are you going to tell Caspian? You promised to take him riding today.”

“Caspian?” asked Sylvian. He’d never heard of a Caspian.

“Did you forget?” Felix asked sharply. “You said you’d keep your promises to our son. He just wants to spend time with you.”

Felix sounded pissed. Sylvain distinctly remembered that as a child, all Felix ever wanted to do was spend time with his father and his brother. Glenn _did_ try-- but their father was far too important to spend time with his family.

But a son-- he couldn’t imagine actually being a father no matter how many women he managed to bed and how much his father pushed for an heir. 

“Sorry,” Sylvain murmured. He tried to pitch his voice to be apologetic. He was used to cajoling furious maidens and their dismayed fathers and brothers.

Felix let out a sharp exhale. “I know you’re busy, and you obviously can’t take care of yourself if you've worked yourself to illness. But you need to try.”

Sylvain felt himself slip into his old cajoling habits. “Of course I will, love.”

He felt Felix push him away and watched him in fascination as he left their bed and got dressed. 

Felix continued lecturing him. At least that was still in character. “Don’t bother placating me. I’m not in the mood to argue. Clean up and get some rest. I’ll go and console Caspian. Goddess knows he’s already getting ready at the stables.”

Sylvain watched him leave before rising from their bed-- he trotted over to the basin Felix had used to wash his face. The room was familiar because it was _his_ room. It was a little strange back here; he had called Garreg Mach his home the past few months. What a strange dream… he would have never thought he’d assigned positive feelings to his childhood home.

He washed his face and dried it with a clean towel. As he turned to put the towel away, he found himself facing his vanity with the old mirror.

He stared. Looking back at him wasn’t his own face-- but an older man, with rougher, sun-kissed skin, messier hair and a well-kept beard. He was-- broader, more than he expected to be. 

It felt like he was looking ten years into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the wonderful [Yevie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevie)


	2. Chapter 2

Sylvain walked closer to the mirror, examining his familiar and yet vastly different reflection. If he looked closely, he could see a few strands of silver hair peak through his bright hair, like snow on a fox's coat. He didn't have many wrinkles, but his smile lines had deepened. What he couldn't get his head around was how much weight he had gained; he was broader and wider and he could tell that his belly was getting a little soft. Youth wasn’t eternal.

He did look tired; there were bags under his eyes and his skin wasn’t in great condition. Perhaps there was some stock in Felix’s claims of him being overworked His body was a bit warm and there was a persistent ache in his throat which had worsened with each passing minute. Now that he was moving around more, he noticed that his muscles and joints were a little sore as well. 

It was… so odd. Was it possible that somehow he’d been transported to the future? No-- there was no way. It had to be a dream, or maybe an illusion. How could he have a future as bright as this?

He needed to find the professor or Lindhardt. They would know how to make him wake up. But how could he trust them? There wasn't a way for him to confirm the people he saw weren't hostile projections in his mind or illusions from an enemy mage. 

The situation was dangerous because he couldn’t trust anyone. Not even Felix, though it hurt his heart to think that.

Perhaps it was wiser to take things slowly and assess the situation. He couldn’t go home until he knew how he got here. He did have a feeling that maybe it had something to do with Felix. Felix was all he thought about before he had died fallen. Maybe if he spent more time with Felix, he’d understand the situation more? He hated how his traitorous heart thundered at the thought.

He was startled out of his musings by a crisp knock on the door. It probably wasn’t Felix. Felix always tapped twice, hard, with his knuckles. It was how he knocked as a child, and after so many months living so close to him, Sylvain was well-attuned to the sound.

“Come in,” Sylvain said.

A familiar face came in: Cosette, one of his maids. She was wearing a vastly different uniform, indicating a promotion to head of his household.

“Milord, your husband has advised me to ensure that you rest. I’ve bought your breakfast with me. Tea, no coffee. Please take your medicine or he will know.”

“You’ll rat me out?” Sylvain asked, feigning offence and hurt.

Cosette smiled as she pushed the breakfast trolley in and poured the tea. “This humble servant serves but one lord, and I am loyal.” 

Cosette was a friend among a sea of manipulative faces. It was hard to relax in a fortress of people who wished to spy on him for his father, or who wished to gain his favour for various benefits. If he had to lose this friend to anyone, he would rather it be to Felix than to any other.

Sylvain took the cup and sipped. It was sweetened with honey, but a strong ginger flavour permeated his mouth. It soothed his throat. The kitchens never made tea like this, usually sticking to bitter, unflavoured black tea.

At his inquiring look, Cosette explained. “Lord Fraldarius went to the kitchens to make it himself. He seemed convinced it would help heal your throat.”

“Where is Felix now?”

“The stables, milord. Caspian has been there since dawn, preparing for his ride with you. You know him, he’s terribly eager. Lord Fraldarius has good reason to worry. That boy has a glass heart.”

Concerned, Sylvain quickly stood up and was immediately assaulted by a faint spell of dizziness. He lowered himself back down onto the bed. One of his hands held steady on the sheets, and the other grasped his head.

“My lord, please do not strain yourself,” chastised Cosette. 

“I’m fine,” gritted out Sylvain.

“On the contrary, milord, you do not look fine. I beg my lord's pardon, but you look like death warmed over. I do not think Caspian should see you like this.” Cosette had never pulled her verbal punches and was unabashedly honest under a veneer of politeness.

But Sylvain had always been slippery; he did not mind fooling people to get his way. He obeyed meekly, eating his breakfast quietly, sipping his tea and partaking in the bitter medicine Cosette pushed him to take. 

He waited until Cosette left before he walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out some clean clothes. He was surprised by the volume of outfits inside the wardrobes, but seeing his outfits alongside what must have been Felix’s made his heart ache in some kind of way.

He guessed it was spring or early summer from the cool but pleasant temperature, and pulled out an outfit accordingly. He slipped on new trousers, a proper shirt, vest and coat, in the various browns, reds and teals of Gautier colours. They were comfortable and befitting of a lord, even if they weren’t as ostentatious as his father’s clothes.

He wondered at the new breadth of his shoulders and chest through the stretch of the fabric. It was strange, how this body was so familiar and yet so different. He fumbled at the lace-ups on his clothes -- the gradual throbbing of his headache was seriously starting to get to him. 

He sighed and went to the basin to wash his face and mouth. The cool water did manage to freshen him up a little, but the cloggy feeling in his head remained.

Satisfied that he looked somewhat decent, he left the room. It was all so surreal. This castle was so, so familiar and yet fundamentally different. It didn’t feel like the place he grew up in. The decor, for one, was much more tasteful and less depressing. It opened up the space a bit more, rather than just display the wealth of the castle’s lords. 

The castle staff nodded to him pleasantly as he strolled past -- he even caught a few of them casting him looks of concern. He was used to servants scurrying along the corridor in fear, head down, shoulders drawn up. Besides a handful of his closest servants, most of the Gautier staff feared him and his parents, who were notoriously picky and harsh with their criticism.

Even if this was just a dream, _an illusion_ , Sylvain wanted to make at least this part a reality when he went back home. One day. Goddess knew that the rest of this dream ( _Felix, a family, happiness)_ was most probably unattainable.

The actual layout of the castle wasn’t different even if the atmosphere had drastically changed. The stables were about a ten-minute walk from his quarters. He swiftly made his way there, ignoring the slight dizziness which had settled into his head. 

The stables themselves were close to what he remembered. That made sense: Margrave Gautier never preoccupied himself with the creatures there -- the stables had always been Sylvain’s domain. Thus, there was no reason to change them even after his apparent ascension. 

In the distance, Sylvain could see Felix talking amicably with a young boy. More than amicably, if the lovely, fond smile on his face was any indication.

The boy looked about seven years old and tall for a child, despite being baby-faced. Looking at him, Sylvain knew he had to be his. His red hair was shorn short, close to his head. His green eyes were fierce, in a way that reminded Sylvain of his father, and his jawline was sharp in a way that reminded Sylvain of his brother. He seemed solemn and serious and spoke in a slow, measured way without any changes to his expression. Sylvain didn't see much of Felix in him at all, and that made his heart ache.

Sylvain watched as Felix reached out and rubbed the child's head. He meekly dipped his head and took the indignity obediently. The tip of the child’s mouth quirked up into an approximation of a smile.

It was a little cute. Sylvain had always thought Felix was good with children, but it was different seeing him with his-- _their_ own son. 

What a strange thought.

As the child turned around, Sylvain saw that he had a sword strapped to his waist. Ah, so he was influenced by Felix as well. No Gautier he had ever known had used any weapon but a lance.

Once Felix’s eyes met his, he looked much angrier; the sharpness of his eyes could cut glass. He was always terrible at hiding his rage; his shoulders had drawn up as if he was ready for a fight -- a verbal one, but still. Sylvain could tell he’d clamped down on his teeth from the tenseness in his jaw. 

“What are you doing out of our room? I told you to rest up.”

“I’m fine,” said Sylvain with a hoarse voice. His vision wasn’t even shaky anymore. He’d ridden into battle in much worse condition. “I’m well enough to go riding.” 

Felix shot him a look which very clearly said, ‘What is wrong with you?’

“Papa, you don’t have to go out with us,” said the boy quietly. “You shouldn’t go out if you’re sick.” 

Sylvain looked at the boy. He didn’t seem too upset, really, despite what Felix and Cosette had said that morning. Felix’s hands gripped the boy’s shoulder and the boy returned the favour by grasping at Felix’s coat. Ah. He was clearly still a bit childish for a boy his age, but Sylvain’s heart warmed at the idea that their son was clearly doted on. 

“Caspian, go inside. It’s cold. I’ll send someone for you when we’re ready to go hunting. I need to talk to your papa now.”

Caspian didn’t move, stubbornly remaining in place. Perhaps there was more of Felix in this boy than Sylvain had thought.

He looked up at Felix, tugging at his coat. “Please don’t be mad at papa. I don’t mind, really, I don’t. Please don’t shout at him.”

Felix’s eyes softened and he leaned down to be eye level with their son. He ruffled the kid’s hair again. He sighed. “When have I ever shouted at your papa? Go now, I’m not going to bully him. You have my word.”

Caspian bit his lip and nodded, slowly extracting himself from Felix and walking towards Sylvain. After a moment of hesitation, Sylvain kneeled down too and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Go inside, before I make you sick, squirt.”

Felix shot him a confused look, but Caspian nodded meekly and trotted off. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Felix’s attention snapped back to Sylvain. “You just can’t listen, can you?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted me to keep my promises.”

“Not by being reckless. There’s no point in you going riding like this. What are you going to do, strap yourself to your horse? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, there’s an idea.”

“No, absolutely not,” said Felix, with a tense set to his jaw. How familiar. “I’m sick and tired of you disregarding your health like this, Sylvain.”

“Sorry, I guess I just don’t want to disappoint you, sweetheart,” Sylvain answered honestly. The endearment slipped off his tongue like butter. He saw Felix twitch at the word. Maybe future-him used different pet names? “I never know how to say no.”

“Believe me, I know,” Felix said. He shot Sylvain a questioning look. “What is wrong with you today? You’ve been acting weird, even for you.”

Sylvain stopped breathing for a moment but managed to calm himself down by staring deep into Felix’s eyes. This Felix was similar to his but softer and more lenient. He could lie to him, Sylvain told himself. He could get away with it. 

He laughed nervously and rubbed his neck. “I, uh, just feel a little off. I guess I am feeling tired.”

Felix sighed. “Please, just go inside and rest? There’s paperwork in your office if you absolutely can’t sit still.” 

“Alright,” Sylvain acquiesced. He did want to spend more time with Felix and procure information about his situation, but there was no harm in doing so through desktop research. If this illusion was at all accurate, he knew that he would have saved missives and letters from over the past years. They could hold clues to what exactly his situation was, and who was still alive and in a position to help him. 

This was a beautiful dream, but he needed to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving to a monthly update schedule for all of my fics until Felix Week + Sylvain Week 1 are over! I will try to update more often than that tho :3
> 
> This chap beta'd by [Jess (MissMarquin)](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarquin/pseuds/MissMarquin) and [Levii (Leviicorpus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviicorpus)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor cw at the bottom

After watching Felix and Caspian leave atop their horses, Sylvain wandered back into the castle keep, thinking about the possible location of his study. He didn't have a study in his real home. His father handled most of Gautier’s stately matters, only assigning harmless paperwork to him. Sylvain worked from the desk in his bedroom. 

If he guessed correctly, his study was likely to be located nearby the library, not too far from his living quarters. He remembered spending a lot of time in the library as a child. He didn’t like studying, but he didn’t mind reading fairy tales and well, Miklan didn’t like the library very much.

He walked slowly towards the library, feeling a little overheated, tired, and weak in the knees. He passed his father’s old study without so much as glancing at it. That place held so many cruel memories that he doubted even his future self would be willing to step into it. 

When he finally reached the library wing, an unfamiliar door caught his eye. It looked relatively new: the brass fixtures were well-polished and sophisticated. He took a set of keys out of the waist pouch he was wearing, suddenly glad that he thought to take it, and unlocked the door, testing each key until he succeeded.

He walked in, taking in his surroundings. It was a little dark, ] but the grand desk and the lush, emerald green armchair caught the late morning light as it dappled into rays. The walls were lined with bookshelves and boxes he assumed were used for filing, as well as warm oil paintings which he recognised as Igantz’s work. He saw a few of his old knick-knacks lining those bookcases, reigniting a strange case of nostalgia. He was sure it was his study.

Amused, he noted the stray bottle of good red wine on the bookshelf next to the desk. He read the label, debating a drink despite his lacklustre condition. Goddess knew he needed one. On the bottle was a familiar scrawl; the text read _Fraldarius Merlot, 1134_. A good year. It was Felix's favourite. He put the bottle down.

The work desk was not too different from the one he was used to. It was wide, with a convenient, flat surface for writing, though that surface held truly astonishing towers of paper. There were official missives from Fhirdiad and as well as missives that were written in Srengi and Almyran; those was peculiar. There was a tall pile with letters from all of the Gautier provinces, and also civil, financial and military reports. 

While he had no doubt these were important documents, he wanted to find more personal information about himself: had he inherited the Margravate? Was he really married to Felix? Where did his son come from? Were their friends alright? And of course, could he find any clues on how to get back home?

He found a smaller letter pile; these were written on parchment of varying qualities, bearing the symbols of varying noble houses and militaries. He started reading. 

_Dear Margrave Gautier,_

_It is I, your good friend Lorenz, writing to inform you of my engagement. Yes, you read that correctly, you buffoon. Spare me the jokes and the teasing. Though to be truthful, I am not sure you will be able to withhold yourself when you find out exactly who my betrothed is—_

With this, he could confirm that he was the Margrave. Either dear old dad had kicked the bucket or had retired. Sylvain would be glad not to see his face anymore. He was happy for Lorenz, truly, but news of Lorenz's engagement would hardly tell him anything about his own personal life.

He must have stored his older, personal letters somewhere. He’d always been a sentimental fool. Marrying Felix wouldn’t change that; if anything, marriage to someone he loved would only exacerbate it. 

He looked through his drawers, pulling them out, left and right. He was aware he was making a mess, but he ignored it. Then— ah, there it was. His eyes landed on a familiar dark red box which lay on the bookshelf nearest to the desk.

He opened it up. A plethora of letters were stacked inside, dating from almost ten years ago to roughly around the present day. 

_Dearest Felix,_

_Is it in bad taste for me to miss the war? Without your tent pitched next to mine, how else will I gaze upon your resplendent face every morning?_

_I jest, I jest. However, I am wholly truthful when I speak of how dearly I miss you and your company. I miss all of our friends, but your absence leaves me yearning. I count down the days until you’ll allow me to see you again eagerly._

_Take care, Felix. Do let me know if you would like me to visit, or if you’d like to spend time up here in the miserable north._

_All my love,_

_Sylvain_

Sylvain stared at the parchment. The letter sounded like something he’d write even now, from the sentiment all the way down to the wording. If the letter was so tame, it was unlikely he had started formally courting Felix by the end of the war. What a pity, he thought. 

It was also a pity he had gotten no other information from this letter. Felix and he knew their fair share of magic, but he doubted that either of them could break out of such an illusion— or step back in time, if this truly was reality. He needed to know if any of their mystical mage friends had survived the war; he wouldn't get that information from his own pining letters. 

He flipped deeper into the stack, checking the dates— ah, the date on those read seven years ago. Felix had said they’d been married for seven years, hadn’t he? Letters from that time weren't like to be useful, but his curiosity buzzed. He couldn't resist.

_Dear Buffoon-head,_

_Was I supposed to find out you’d eloped with Felix Fraldarius from the market gossip or were you actually planning to inform me? I hope you’re enjoying your honeymoon. Goddess bless Dimitri for putting up with your oafish selves._

_I’ll be at the capital in a week. Stay put. I will be bringing wedding gifts from our friends in Leicester as well._

_Love,_

_Your friend, Ingrid._

'Our friends in Leicester' was promising. Perhaps Lysithea had survived and would be able to help him? The following letters offered no follow-up on that lead.

He flipped through a variety of letters until he landed on one with incredibly familiar handwriting. He'd seen it scrawled across test papers and blackboards years and years ago.

Bingo.

_Dear Sylvain,_

_I’m writing to remind you of the Class of 1180's ten-year reunion at Garreg Mach. I look forward to seeing both you and Felix there._

_Professor Byleth_

So the professor was safe and well at the writing of this letter: five years ago. The professor had a strange sense of tenacity; the odds were that she was still alive. That was extremely promising… if he somehow managed to make it all the way to Garreg Mach. 

Well, he had a lead, but he still didn't know much about his situation. He looked at the stack of papers in his hands and fought against the emerging migraine he felt. With a huff, he sat down on the comfy, emerald green armchair and continued reading. Better now than later, while the light was still out and Felix was gone. He read the next letter, this time penned in his own cursive writing.

_My Dearest Felix,_

_Though my heart truly yearns deeply for you to return to our frosty home, I beseech you to stay your temper and avoid_ _~~murdering~~ _ _removing any Imperial loyalists who vex you so. I do not wish to see you return home in chains, no matter how amusing the grimace on the King’s face would be to look upon._

_No, surely your diplomatic mission will progress much faster with their cooperation. Meanwhile, I am here, feeling cold and lonely with naught but my hand to keep me company as I think of your lovely form, my dear, and your—_

He stopped reading. As interesting was his future fantasies were (and they would be if they accurately portrayed an attentive, eager Felix), these were going to be of no help to him. 

He thumbed through the sheets, settling on some unfamiliar handwriting.

_Dear Sylvain,_

_Look, could you do me a favour and convince your grouch of a husband to take in one of my apprentices? Life is tough as a travelling knight, and Goddess knows that travelling with children is difficult. I have the funds to send one of the older ones to the officer’s academy, but most of them are too young for that, and I’m sick of them squabbling over the rights to polishing my armour._

_But in all honesty, a couple of my girls are amazingly talented with a sword, and there’s only so much I can teach them. Even if they do go to the academy, what will they learn? Felix knows better than anyone that the current sword instructor is a buffoon._

_Just tell him to get over himself and just take my offer. He’s not a menace to children, nor will he manage to mentally scar them for life. I can, unfortunately, attest to the fact that he’s an exceedingly skilled weapons instructor, and has been since our years at the academy. To tell you the truth, my girls could learn a thing about honour and discipline from him as well._

_I can pay for their food and board if it comes to it, though I’m sure you’ll have the funds from the trust you’ve set up for war orphans._

_Your old friend,_

_Leonie_

_Dear Sylvain,_

_I can’t believe you got Felix to practically adopt some of Leonie’s_ ~~_hellspawn_~~ _students. They are truly a rowdy bunch. I took in one of the more timid girls last summer— she has quite a bit of promise, and a talent for flying I’m afraid no village could nurture._

_The war has left the continent ravaged, and many people have been left homeless and hungry. It’s been years since, but recovery has been slow. I always thought that I needed to be a knight to do good, but honestly, helping people rebuild seems to be more useful than punching any Imperial loyalists._

_I’m very proud that you’re taking the steps to talk to the Srengi. Perhaps centuries of bloodshed will be ended with that silver tongue of yours, though I am sure we will all miss you dearly while you are gone._

_Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers, for we will have to withstand your Felix’s infamous temper without your obliging presence. I truly don’t know how you do it._

_Love, Ingrid._

_Sylvain,_

_I understand that your diplomatic tour in Sreng is coming to an end. Good. Return home at once, or there won’t be much of your father left by the time I’ve satisfied my rage._

~~_Love,_~~ _Yours, Felix._

_Dear Felix, light of my life,_

_Although I wish to depart as soon as possible to return your welcoming embrace, it is simply not possible for me to leave now without breaking a few hearts. Diplomatic hearts. You know better than I how hard-won trust can be, and Sreng and Faerghus have been at war for centuries._

_Please, my dear, have mercy on me, and on my bastard of a father for a scant few more weeks. Know that I am endeavouring to return to you as soon as I can. Even with significant rushing, I do not believe I will be back before the first snow._

_My sincerest apologies, love. I am regretful I cannot return to you._

_All my love,_

_Sylvain._

It was heartening to hear that Gautier no longer spent its days and nights fighting Sreng. It seemed that Sylvain had somehow managed the impossible: he had made the Crest of Gautier obsolete. He eagerly read on.

_Sylvain,_

_Not everything is about you, you pompous ass_. _Mark my words,_ _I will travel to the Sreng congregation. By the time you receive this letter, I will be halfway to your doorstep. Prepare for the arrival of myself and a guest. We will not stay long, but it is imperative that I deliver this news to you in person, and that we decide on a course of action together before your father has his wits together._

_I shall see you soon,_

_— Felix._

Sylvain flipped to the next letter.

_Lord Father,_

_I am writing to inform you of my adoption of Caspian Lucas Gautier as my son and heir. Although you have voiced your objections to this particular Crestless child before, I would like to remind you that I have not and will not father any children of my own. Your own children born out of wedlock will have to suffice if you do not wish for your line to die out._

_The way you have handled this matter is highly irresponsible. Perhaps you would have been able to avoid this kerfuffle had you managed to show some human decency and provided for the basic needs of this child. But I will not allow any child of our family to live in such conditions any longer. You should know fear, father, for if I find any of your other bastards, I will offer the same care I’ve offered to Caspian._

_My husband and I have completed a Srengi adoption blood ritual here in the north, but rest assured, we will be finalising the adoption in the capital before we step foot in Gautier._

_Regards,_

_Sylvain, Lord Protector of the North._

So Sylvain’s gut feeling had been right— Caspian was born of Gautier blood. But he wasn’t sired by Sylvain, which almost surprised him, considering the not insignificant amount of women he’d slept with. 

Sylvain could not begin to imagine how much work and time his future self had put into convincing Felix that a relationship with him was somehow a good idea. If he _had_ sired Caspian, it would have been while he was courting Felix. Perhaps he had done so with his permission, though that thought made him still feel a little uneasy. Felix deserved the world—Sylvain wanted to give him everything. 

It relieved him a little, that the child was really a much younger half-brother of his. He’d wondered before, if his father had tried sowing his seeds elsewhere to create a new, perfect shiny heir, or if, perhaps, he was just unable to keep it in his pants, just like a _real_ Gautier man.

Well, now he knew.

Perhaps he would never truly know how many half-siblings he had, but at least he could ensure this one had a good future. 

He thought a bit about the child’s mother, but if he had to guess, the urgency in Felix's letters and journey to Sreng meant that Caspian's maternal family had not cared for him adequately. Felix really did have a soft spot for small children, and by the date of those letters, Caspian would have been no older than a toddler. He couldn't imagine what the boy had gone through back then to retain his timidness even now.

He sighed and put the letters neatly back into the box, and put the box back onto the shelves. He sat back in his chair and sighed. It was a little stuffy in this study even though the small window was open. His fever hadn’t abated and all the reading he’d done had not helped matters.

He stood up after a few minutes of rest and then went to work trying to straighten up the stacks of paper he’d strewn around the desk and floor. It was still a bit messy after he had finished tidying up, but he paid it no mind. Surely no one would be able to tell the difference.

He took one glance at his assigned paperwork and left the room. Felix would probably forgive him for not doing any paperwork, considering that he hadn’t endorsed the idea in the first place. 

Sylvain made his way back to his room. He hated feeling like a slob, but honestly, rest would only do him good. The more he moved around and pushed himself, the worse he felt. 

As he settled down in bed, he thought idly about his situation. It didn’t _seem_ like he was in any direct danger. They weren’t even at war with Sreng. Felix and his staff had made no moves to harm him. If this was an illusion, then it was harmless, despite the fact that he couldn’t wake up. 

Briefly, he considered the possibility… what if this wasn’t a dream or an illusion? What if it was real, and he’d somehow stepped ten years into the future?

Stranger things had happened. The professor had appeared in the same place five years after her disappearance, with not a single hair out of place, after all. Was it so hard to believe that maybe, he would have this wonderful future that he couldn’t possibly deserve? A happy life, with everything he’d ever wanted. A life he’d eventually ruin anyway. When had he ever been able to keep nice things? It had always seemed better to him not to try— that way, he’d never hurt anyone he didn’t want to hurt. Including himself. 

He let out a shaky exhale and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

  
He woke up to a knife at his throat. 

His arms and legs were bound: each limb was tied to the corresponding bedpost. He felt a heavy weight against his hip bones: the familiar feeling of someone straddling his body. To his burgeoning disappointment, he did not see this scenario ending in a good time for all. 

As he opened his eyes, he feasted on the sight of Felix straddling him in his training clothes: suitably padded for protection, but still lighter than his war attire, outlining his body in dangerous, subtle curves. He was positioned forward and had leveraged the knife to dig into Sylvain’s chin— not enough to draw blood, but close. His body was curled tight with tension, like a panther ready to strike. Despite the fear in Sylvain’s heart and his lungs, there was an unfortunate part of him which heated with arousal.

“Not a word or a twitch unless I ask it of you. Blink twice if you understand,” commanded Felix. 

Sylvain blinked twice.

Felix’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Good.”

He waited with bated breath as Felix eased his weight back downwards as if he was settling himself in for a long interrogation.

“Now, who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: nonconsensual, non-sexy bondage right at the last scene. Just read the last line to understand what's up.
> 
> Writing letters is fun! I accidentally finished this chapter too soon, so I'm posting it now lol.  
> Beta'd by: [Jess (MissMarquin)](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarquin/pseuds/MissMarquin), [Levii (Leviicorpus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviicorpus) and [samariumwriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see A/N for minor cw

Sylvain’s eyes involuntarily widened in shock. He hoped that it made him look more innocent, but from the way Felix sneered above him and the prick of the dagger at his throat, he doubted that it worked.

“What are you talking about, Fe?”

Felix let out an amused little huffed and tilted his head, reminiscent of a cat toying with prey. Sylvain’s eyes watched the fall of Felix’s hair follow the movement, quietly admiring the soft moonlight illuminating his skin. If only the pale loveliness of his arms wasn’t holding a weapon to his throat.

Felix scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, little doppelganger. Did you really think I couldn’t tell you aren’t the man I married?”

Sylvain tensed at the question. _His Felix_ would be able to tell if there was something wrong with him in a heartbeat. This Felix had apparently been married to him for seven years. Despite Felix's claims that he didn’t understand people, Sylvain knew it wasn’t completely true; he knew Sylvain to a fault. Maybe he would accept that he was _a_ Sylvain even if he wasn't his Sylvain.

“Fe, you have to believe me. I’m Sylvain, your— “

The knife pressed deeper against his skin. He felt the sharpness there, and a faint, warm trickle slid down his throat. 

“Shut up. This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with shapeshifters. I’m ashamed that I let you go unscathed for so long. Now, answer my questions.”

Felix always had great strength, a quiet force of iron and a will of steel. He was voracious in his quest to grow stronger still, insistent on accumulating the strength needed to protect the ones he loved. Sylvain hadn't ever expected that force and rage to turn against him. 

He could do nothing but plead the truth.

“My name is Sylvain Gautier, I swear. Felix. C’mon, you know me. Ask me anything you want—”

“I don’t have _time_ for your games, you monster,” Felix growled. Sylvain had never seen him so angry, nor heard him speak with such malice. His hands were trembling; the grip on the knife was unsteady. It was dark, and Sylvain could only make out vague facial features, but he would bet money that Felix was close to frustrated tears. He hadn't seen Felix cry for a long, long time and in a distant part of his mind, he wondered how the salt of his tears would taste.

"Tell me where my husband is _now_ ,” Felix demanded. His other hand gripped Sylvain’s shoulder in a vice grip; the force he exerted was so strong Sylvain was sure he was going to bruise. He marvelled at the silent strength that Felix carried in his lithe form. He was glad Felix could protect himself, but man, that hurt like a bitch.

“Remember when we were kids and we made a promise about dying together?” Sylvain blurted out. Surely, Felix would remember. It was a secret they wouldn't share with anyone else. Sylvain thought back to the long, dark nights where he had considered leaving everything behind. He'd never gone through with it, because Felix was his beacon in the darkness. Surely that promise had meant something to him too.

Felix froze. A small noise escaped his mouth, reminiscent of a whimper. After a moment of hesitation, he said in a frustrated voice, “You’ve taken his memories, haven’t you? I swear, If you’ve hurt him, I’ll rend the flesh from your bones.”

The grip he had on Sylvain's shoulder only got worse, and the knife remained where it was. Sylvain tried to take deep, calming breaths, but that was difficult when he was being pinned down by someone so lethal. Felix was heavy. The angry press of his calves against Sylvain's waist only made it harder to breathe.

“I’m trying not to get myself killed before you. But you’re making that really difficult, Fe," croaked Sylvain.

Sylvain imagined that the look on Felix’s face was thunderous. Felix spoke with rage. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Look, I’m not lying. I swear. I _am_ Sylvain. I’m just not exactly _your_ Sylvain. I’m either a time traveller or an amnesiac— I don’t know. The last thing I remember is clearing up bandits in Airmid. I saw you go down, and I. I need to go back.”

Felix watched him as he delivered his flustered explanation. "Time travel. Amnesia," he said flatly. "Alright, if you're not going to talk when I ask you nicely, I'll move on to other methods."

He removed the knife from Sylvain's throat and slid it back into its sheath. He slung his legs back over Sylvain's torso, effectively dismounting him. Like a bird of prey, he sleekly moved towards Sylvain’s right hand. Sylvain felt a brief sense of growing foreboding.

When Felix spoke again, his voice was so cold it made Sylvain shake from the tips of his fingers to the soreness of his throat. "You're a shapeshifter, aren't you? Surely you wouldn't mind if I cut off a finger or two. You could just grow it back. Ahh, but you're afraid of pain, aren't you?"

"Felix. Buddy, please. Do not cut off anything. I might not be your husband, but I am still Sylvain."

Felix took his knife back out of the sheath and slid the flat of the blade over Sylvain's knuckles. He coaxed in a darker, sweeter voice, "I don't have to do anything if you just tell me the truth."

“Alright, alright, I’ll talk,” exclaimed Sylvain. He craned his head to peer at Felix. "When fighting alongside the professor, have you ever felt that weird tugging feeling in your chest? It always happens when the situation is dire, when we’re outnumbered four to one and there’s no way out, but then there’s this pull, and your heart throbs, and you know you’ll be alright.”

There was palpable hesitation in the tenseness of Felix’s back and the shaky little exhale he let out.

Sylvain continued talking. “I felt this weird pulse in my chest at Airmid. But things _aren’t_ alright, because I woke up here, in this body. Your husband’s body. I really am Sylvain, just not the one you know. Or just not completely. Trust me, you may want your husband back, but I want to go home. My Felix wasn’t doing so well the last time I saw him.”

Felix put the knife down on the blanket and laughed: a sore, hoarse thing. “You understand that you sound absolutely insane. _I_ would have to be insane to believe you.”

“But you want to believe me,” said Sylvain with certainty.

“I’d rather my husband be trapped in the past than the alternative,” answered Felix. “And your strange story has a thread of truth. I’ve always suspected that the professor has some sort of lucky blessing she had bestowed on us which made us walk out of so many battles unscathed.”

“She probably does,” Sylvain admitted. It had just failed him this time.

Felix shook his head. “For the record, I don’t actually believe you. But I’d rather not waste more time on this charade."

Sylvain could hear him move around, could feel the shift of the bed as he reached to the other side of the bed. He heard the bedside drawer slide open, the quiet clink of a glass bottle and the pop of a cork stopper. He had a bad feeling about this. Somehow, he didn't think that Felix was pouring him a drink.

“Goodnight,” said Felix.

Sylvain felt a damp cloth wrap around his nose and mouth; the strong, chemical smell pervaded his senses. He struggled against his bindings but to no avail. Felix brushed off his movements with practised ease. It became harder to breathe, and his head became woozier and heavier until he slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

***

He had a terrible ache in his skull.

"Good morning. Sir Fraldarius told us to bring you breakfast,” said a young, feminine voice.

Sylvain woke slowly; the cloudiness of his vision and the murkiness of his mind lingered. His joints ached, particularly his wrists and ankles. He still felt warm; his fever had never truly left him, and neither had his sore throat. It was so dark, he could barely make out the railed caging a few metres in front of him nor the slabs of rock which made up the walls of the cell. The damp mouldiness of his surroundings quickly became apparent, as was the hard rocks of the wall digging into his back. 

To his dismay, his wrists were bound shackles attached with a long chain; he could still move around with relative ease, but the chains were magically heavy, if not physically so. They dampened his energy and exuded tired energy throughout his body. He could feel the sorrow of his spirits pool at his wrists. Sylvain suspected that if he tried to cast any spells, he’d fail spectacularly.

He leaned his head back to the wall and sighed, closing his eyes once again. He didn’t miss being a war prisoner. To be fair, this was not war. He’d simply trespassed, and had laid his hands on a body which did not belong to him.

“It’s rude to ignore people when they’re doing you a favour,” the voice called again.

Sylvain looked in the direction of the call; a teenage girl, dressed in some kind of armour, was standing on the other side of the bars of his charming little cell.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

He couldn't see her clearly in the dark, but the girl sounded frustrated. “You have to eat. The boss ordered it.”

“No point in eating if I’m just going to throw it up,” he said.

“It’s fruit oatmeal. You always eat it!” the girl exclaimed. She paused as if confronted with her thoughts. “Or Lord Gautier did, anyway.”

“Who are you again?”

The girl puffed up, seemingly putting on the airs of a knight. “I’m Clarise, Sir Fradarius’ squire and number one apprentice. You spies have been sloppy if you didn’t even know that.”

“I’m not a spy,” he mumbled. Her idle chatter was getting annoying. He normally did not mind company, but his persistent headache made any conversation painful.

“Right, right. You’re a time traveller. I forgot,” she said, amused. She paused and then she said snidely, “You really should have come up with a better story. Don’t think my knight master is done with you yet, he’s just biding his time. When he finally finds the Margrave, you'll regret not cooperating.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t care if you believe it or not,” said Sylvain tiredly. He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes.

He ignored the squire's continued attempts of conversation and started a counting chant to ground himself until he was sleepy enough to slip off.

***

When he awoke again, he still felt pretty bad. His surroundings were still dark and musty. He awoke slowly; the aches in his body were slowly dissolving through the familiar ministrations of faith healing. 

He opened his eyes to familiar, worried eyes. Ah. Mercedes. She was crouched beside him, her hands glowing with light. 

He still felt too weak to talk but his throat was too parched. His tongue was mildly swollen; he tried to move it, but it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Rolling his head back, he could see Felix watching behind Mercedes as she healed, arms crossed and face drawn in a scrunched-up scowl.

Mercedes turned slightly towards Felix and chastised him. "He's in no condition for an interrogation, Felix. I doubt you'll get much information out of someone with pneumonia. He'd be half-delirious."

"He doesn't need to be lucid for me to torture information out of him."

"Why haven’t you already done so if you're so sure that he's a spy?"

"It's not like I enjoy torturing people. I'm not that messed up. He said something that made me— I need to make sure he's lying before I do any permanent damage."

Mercedes sighed. “You know truth spells aren’t very reliable, Felix. If the subject is under stress, it may give us the wrong reading. Even if he isn’t innocent, you need him to give you the right information.”

“Can’t you just heal him up?” Felix snapped.

“Healing can only go so far. He’s ill. You should have planned ahead and treated him well.”

Felix huffed, frustrated. “I gave him food, drink and medicine. He refused to take it. I’m not going to shove it down his throat.”

Mercedes stood up. “I’ve tried my best, Felix. He’ll be well enough in a day or so. I can help you cast the spell then.” 

“A day? Sylvain has already been missing for a few days now. I can’t wait.”

“You know I can’t condone torture, Felix,” Mercedes said softly, almost too softly for him to hear. She peered at Sylvain. “I’m not sure you’d get any coherent words out of him anyway. Let him rest. Sylvain is resilient. I believe in him.”

“Fine,” Felix agreed. 

“Have you written to the professor? I’m sure they’ll be interested in helping.”

Sylvain’s stomach flipped at the mention of the professor. If they came… then he’d have a chance to convince Felix he was innocent, and that Felix’s Sylvain was probably safe. Or at least his body was. 

The professor could help him figure out a way to go home too. This experience didn’t start out badly; he loved having a Felix who shared his affections, but it wasn’t his life. Not yet. His life was just starting out now. He needed to go back home to start building it. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Felix said. “They were visiting Dimitri in Fhirdiad, so they weren’t too far.”

“I hope they come swiftly then. If nothing else, the professor’s truth spells are much more stable than mine,” said Mercedes with more cheer in her voice. 

Sylvain’s eyelids starting drooping again. He must have made a noise, because Mercedes turned towards him again, observing him. Her hands glowed with magic again as she laid them on him.

“Sleep,” she said.

Lulled in by her magic, he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mentions of torture, but nothing happens  
> I wrote a fluffy spin-off set in the future!! I really like this verse so I might keep adding to it.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely Dev ([imalright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/works)) Lin ([ixcarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixcarus/works)). Go check out their stuff!!


	5. Chapter 5

There was no doubt that Sylvain had woken up in a complicated situation—a hilariously complicated situation. He had no way to go home, his best friend thought he was a shapeshifting spy who had killed his future-self, and he was so congested that he could barely breathe through his nose.

On the bright side, his current holding cell was miles better than the last. He remembered spending some time in this very cell in his youth whenever he managed to piss off his father. It was still pretty dark and dingy, but the air was dry and crisp. It was more well-lit than his previous cell; cleaner and blessedly rat-free.

Waking up this time was a great deal easier; Mercedes’ healing spells had worked. His body ached much less than it had, and his fever had abated. His wrists felt lighter, and he could tell his magic and his strength were no longer being restrained. If he remembered correctly, there were wards in the cell designed to make escape very difficult, but he could still use magic from inside the cell. 

Concentrating on his surroundings, he could see three figures inside the room, on his side of the cell: Mercedes, Felix and the professor. Mercedes stood the closest to him, looking at him in concern. Felix stood the farthest away—he was leaning on the bars of the cell, skulking like a cat who was watching silently and wanted it to be known. The professor stood between them; she was wearing robes not dissimilar to Lady Rhea’s. She stood tall with authority; the air around her was more intimidating than he remembered it being. He promptly abandoned all hope of escape. 

He struggled to prop himself up by his elbows, wincing at the effort. Despite feeling better, he had no energy, and every movement took effort. He wanted to act as lucidly as possible. If he played his cards right, he could try to talk his way through this.

“Good morning,” said Mercedes. She flicked her hand and cast fire at the unlit torches, illuminating the room even more.

He stared at her before breaking into a fit of coughs. Her face pinched in concern and she crouched down, handing him a leather skin water pouch. He took it gratefully and drank.

“Morning,” he croaked.

“If he’s awake, we can start asking questions,” said Felix. His voice was severe and piercing. 

_Mercedes,_ signed the Professor. _Check if he’s well enough for an interrogation._

Mercedes nodded and reached out to him with a glowing hand. After a few minutes of examining, she spoke. “It looks like he’s strong enough for the spell.”

The professor nodded and started casting. A familiar wave of magic washed over him. The professor’s spells always felt like verdant green and calming winds. The green light moved from her fingertips to his and coursed through his meridians. He felt it seize his lips and throat. 

_Ask a question_ , signed the Professor.

“Who sent you?” asked Felix. Straight to the point as always.

“I don’t know,” Sylvain answered. The words flowed out of his mouth without his bidding. He tried not to let the panic seize him. It would only make resisting more difficult. He knew this spell. Lindhardt had suggested using it against imperial soldiers. It would make him answer anything that was asked truthfully, but with enough willpower he could control his delivery.

“Who are you?”

“I am Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

“Fuck, it isn’t working,” said Felix with a scowl. He seemed frustrated; his brow was scrunched up in a truly adorable way. Sylvain wanted to smooth it out. Felix glared at the professor. "Are you sure these spells aren’t infallible?"

 _I cast it properly,_ signed the Professor. _Trust me._

Felix closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Where is my husband?” he demanded.

“This is his body. I’m just borrowing it. I don’t know where his soul is.”

Felix pushed himself forward, stalking closer to Sylvain. He loomed over him ominously. Sylvain knew that look. He was angry. But not just angry—there was a hint of something else, too. Nervousness? Denial? Sylvain was adept at reading Felix, but he wasn't clairvoyant. 

“When you told me you were from the past, were you telling the truth?”

“I was,” Sylvain said. His voice cracked in desperation. “Felix, you have to believe me.”

“Describe it again,” said Felix curtly. 

“It’s been a few months since we found his highness. We were fighting bandits in Airmid. I saw you get cornered by them, so I threw myself at them and a mage struck me with Thoron. I should have died then, but I felt a weird tugging feeling in my chest. A pulse. It—I think it was supposed to throw me back in time. But it threw me forward. Like a slingshot. I know you want your husband back. I just want to go home.”

Felix looked at the professor. “Is what he’s saying possible? Is time travel real?”

The professor looked conflicted. There was a crinkle in her brow and a sad look in her eyes. _Yes, it is. I have a gift, given to me by the Goddess, called a Divine Pulse. I only used it in battle when the tides turned against us. I would turn back the wheels of time, and change what was to come. But I could never go back very far, and some events, like the deaths of our fathers, were unchangeable. What Sylvain is claiming—I’m not sure it’s possible. But I don’t think it’s impossible. I spent five years in a space outside of time. He could be here because of a broken Divine Pulse._

“You never told us,” Felix said, tone accusing.

The professor smiled gently. _There was no reason to encourage your recklessness, Felix. It didn’t always work, either. Perhaps that is proof enough that Sylvain is telling the truth. Besides, I remember that battle in Airmid. I almost lost the two of you. Sylvain had it worse. You were at his bedside for days._

“You don’t need to bring that up,” said Felix gruffly. He looked down at Sylvain as if searching for evidence of honesty in his face. “If this is true, then why didn’t you tell me at the beginning? I wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“I wasn't sure it this wasn't a dream, or a spell conjured by an enemy mage. I had wanted to be with you for so long. I thought it couldn’t be real. I’m not sure I could have said anything even if I wanted to. You took my breath away.”

Mercedes giggled. “He certainly sounds like Sylvain.”

Felix glared at her and sneered at Sylvain. “ _Shut up,_ you didn’t even like me back then.”

“I liked you always. I’ve loved you for a long time—I just couldn’t see it. And when I finally did, I didn’t know how to say it. I never thought you could love me the way I love you,” he said. The words flowed like water. He couldn’t resist. His cheeks burnt. He wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. His palms were slick with sweat. Despite the shame, it felt good to say it all out loud. It was hard enough to face his feelings. Articulating them was even more difficult.

“I’m not so convinced,” said Felix shakily. “A few pretty words can’t win me over. All that matters is that I get my husband back.”

 _It is likely that your husband was once this man, even if this man is not your husband,_ signed the professor. _I can check his body and see if he has a trace of a pulse on him._

“Go ahead.”

The professor nodded and reached forward. She tilted her head slightly as she probed his body with magic. Sylvain felt the same green magic flow over him. It was ticklish and warm. After a moment, the professor stepped back, drawing her magic with her. 

She looked towards Felix and nodded. _He’s telling the truth. He is lost in time._

As the professor signed, Felix became paler and paler. His eyes avoided Sylvain’s and his arms crossed tightly to clutch across his torso.

“How do we send him back?” Felix asked, after a moment of recovery.

_I have an idea for a ritual, but it’s best that we do it in Airmid, since that’s where he came from._

“Airmid is a week’s journey from here and Sylvain isn’t feeling well," said Mercedes, her voice gentle and placating. Clearly, she was wary of what Felix wanted to do.

Felix frowned but didn't object. He obviously missed his husband, but the revelation that Sylvain was a younger version of himself probably made him reluctant to rush them,lest he harm Sylvain.

"I'll have him sent upstairs to recover," said Felix. Then, in a tone of clear dismissal: "I appreciate your time, Byleth. Mercedes."

He swiftly exited the room. Mercedes and the professor exchanged looks of confusion and concern. After a moment, Mercedes sighed and went after Felix.

Soon after, Sylvain was moved to a guest room upstairs. He should have felt elation at his explanation being accepted, but when he thought of Felix's guilty face, he found none.

***

Breakfast the next day was a tame affair. Sylvain was once again offered fruit oatmeal, which he ate with gusto. 

Cosette remained even after he finished eating. She lingered in the doorway, as if she was mulling over saying something to him.

“Anything I can do for you, Cosette?” he asked with a winning smile.

She smiled and shook her head. “It is enough for me that my lord is healthy and well-fed. But if my lord wishes to pass the time with a familiar face, this humble servant can only recommend visiting the greenhouse.”

A familiar face? He thought about it for a moment. The Cosette he knew was loyal to only him, but this Cosette was incredibly fond of Felix. He had heard nothing from Felix since he had run away the day before. Perhaps she wanted Sylvain to check in on him. 

“If you could help me dress, I’d be happy to go down there,” he said.

The tension in her shoulders withdrew. “I’ll set aside some robes for you, and a wash-basin for you to freshen up.”

He nodded in thanks. Once he was decent, he made his way to the greenhouse. 

As predicted, Felix was there, standing among the lilies and the hydrangeas. The morning sun shone on his lovely, dark hair. His clothes showed his status; he was very much the spouse of a lord, if not a lord in his own right—he wore Gautier colours, and a high collar not unlike the ones that Sylvain preferred. 

“Felix,” he said. 

Felix turned his head to look at him but did not bother to move.

“Here to mock me?” asked Felix.

“I’m just here to see a familiar face,” said Sylvain cheerily.

Felix laughed sharply, a broken, small sound. “Don’t remind me. Has this experience woken you up? Have you finally realised how cruel and untamable I am? Are you plotting your escape from me yet?” 

Sylvain looked at him. This Felix was so different from his and yet so similar. He looked tired: there were bags under his eyes, no doubt from worrying over his absent husband, and a sickly pallor to his skin that made Sylvain’s heart ache. He spoke with bitterness and wore it honestly on his face. And yet, he held himself with quiet vulnerability. Perhaps no one else would have noticed. But Sylvain did. Felix rarely spoke of his true thoughts and feelings, so Sylvain had watched and memorised every emotional hint and clue Felix subconsciously gave him.

Sylvain tried to fall back on old habits. His teasing usually won a smirk or a roll of the eyes from Felix. “On the contrary, I’m trying to figure out how I convinced you to marry me.”

“I was the one that asked. We eloped,” said Felix in brusque, clipped tones. 

He avoided Sylvain’s eyes, pulled away from the flowers, and quickly walked towards the doorway.

He didn’t make it very far before Sylvain called after him. “You know, what you did to me was harsh, but understandable. If someone had stolen my Felix’s body or tried to take his place, I don’t think I would have been half as kind as you were.”

Felix whipped his head around. There was a fierceness to his eyes which made Sylvain want to set something on fire. “I _tortured_ you,” hissed Felix.

“You threatened me. I’m not saying I enjoyed it, but I understand why you did it. It’s rational. Besides, it’s not like you withheld food and drink— or even medicine from me. I just refused to take it.” 

“I could have hurt you. Nevermind that your body is his, but you’re still— ”

“I tried to tell you.”

“I know,” snapped Felix.

Sylvain moved closer to him. The way the morning rays illuminated Felix’s face was so, so soft. He reached out to though him on the shoulder; he felt like he was touching a mirage. “You were scared. I don’t blame you.”

Felix pulled back from his touch. The disappointment of rejection stung, like always.

“I’m sick and tired of your indifference towards your own wellbeing,” growled Felix. His lips had curled into a familiar snarl, and his anger had blustered into a heavy red on his cheeks. “How could you be okay with what I did to you? You’re such a fool.”

“Fe, trust me. If it was anyone else, I’d be pissed. But I’m willing to move forward from that. I know what’s important to me.” 

Felix scoffed. “Fine. Then what’s important to you?”

“My friends. My future. You,” he answered. “I know you too well to be scared off so easily.”

He watched Felix carefully, looking for the signs, the letters and words left unsaid. He used to be able to read Felix like a book. Felix’s eyes widened, exposing his vulnerability. His mouth had flattened in a straight line, in the way that it did whenever he fought against tears.

“Fe. You can talk to me. Aren’t we friends even if we’re not married?”

“That’s enough. I don’t need your pity,” he growled. He tried to break away from Sylvain’s gaze and turned to walk out again.

Sylvain’s hand lunged out to grab Felix’s. His hands were sweaty, but his grip was steady. “I meant what I said. The beginning of this trip was like a dream. I never imagined that we could be happy like this. I didn’t think I’d survive the war.”

That only made Felix angrier.

“Did you think I’d let you die without me?”

Sylvain shrugged. “You’re only mortal, Felix, and so am I. You can’t deny that the stakes were against us. Did you never doubt that we’d survive?”

“I did,” admitted Felix. “But I did what I had to. We’re here now. This—this isn’t some sort of make-believe fantasy. This is real. But you—you have the power to change that.” 

Sylvain looked at him incredulously. What was he _saying?_ “Why would I want to change this?”

“You keep saying that you want this. But do you? You could have married anyone. But you’re stuck with me. If this isn’t _good enough_ for you, you can go back to the past and change it.”

“I’m not going to do that. How many times do I have to say it? Clearly I haven’t been a good husband if you think I’m looking for a way out—”

“That’s not what I said,” said Felix, voice rising in frustration.

“Then say it in a way I can understand.”

Felix was quiet for a moment, and his eyes were stubbornly fixed on his shoes. He muttered something unintelligibly before he picked his head up and looked Sylvain directly in the eye.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” said Felix, quietly. “But I don’t understand why you would want this future, after how I treated you.”

“I’ve said it already. You were under duress; I can forgive you. Meeting you, and Caspian, and reading all of those letters… they’ve only made me more hopeful for this kind of future. Maybe you’re right. Maybe my future won’t be exactly like this. But I don’t think it’ll change too much.”

He nudged himself closer into Felix’s space, and when Felix didn’t spook, he enveloped him in his arms. Felix slowly moved his arms around him too, clutching at the fabric at Sylvain’s shoulders. His cheek was pressed up against Sylvain’s neck. The perfume of his hair (jasmine flowers and Almyran oils), pervaded his senses.

“I don’t like this,” Felix said softly. “What if the switch doesn’t work? What if my Sylvain never comes back? I can’t… I don’t want a future without him.”

“I’m sure that he won’t be able to stay away from you for very long,” said Sylvain. “I promise I’ll do all I can to bring him back.”

Felix said nothing at that, but gripped the fabric at his back a little tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Ning ([Euphemea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea)) for helping me wrangle this to a somewhat-readable package. All remaining mistakes are mine.


	6. Chapter 6

Travelling south was much easier when you were a noble in the service of the King of Fodlan than when you were a Kingdom soldier moving to conquer the Empire.

They had left with little fanfare. While Sylvain finished recovering from his mild bout of the flu, Felix had written to Ingrid, inviting her from her summer post in Fhirdiad to supervise Gautier Castle. The Sreng might have been appeased, but Gautier and Fraldarius still encountered bandits from time to time. It was better to be safe than sorry. 

Felix's squires had pleaded with him to let them come, and Caspian had been quiet and solemn when they told him they were leaving on a fortnight-long trip. They had told Caspian that it was just a diplomacy mission. When he had asked to come, Felix had gently told him that he couldn't neglect his studies. He hadn’t pleaded or begged in Sylvain's presence, but his eyes had been a tell-tale red in the twilight hours after dinner. 

The morning they had left, Caspian woke early to send them off. They embraced him with tight hugs and promised to return as swiftly as they could. Sylvain had ruffled Caspian’s hair, marvelling at his bedhead. He wasn’t able to spend much time with him, but he knew he would miss him a little.

They made good pace in the downward trails from Gautier to Garreg Mach, and then again from Garreg Mach to Airmid. The further south they went, the more nervous Felix seemed. Sylvain felt trepidation too, settling into the pit of his stomach and crawling around his heart like ivy. 

Most of their days were spent in the saddle. Felix never was much of a horse person, and Sylvain himself felt a little sore throughout the journey, but neither of them said a word of complaint. Felix remained quiet throughout the trip. He seemed contemplative and took to watching the horizon for long stretches of time. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Felix scoffed and shook his head. He continued watching the sunset. “All of your wealth belongs to me. Did you forget?”

“Does that count? I haven’t married you.”

“It’s my husband’s body you’re in. I’d expect the court of law to say that it does.”

Sylvain watched him silently, taking in the way the setting sun highlighted the tension in his neck and shoulders. 

“Are you still nervous?”

Felix snorted. “I must be if you’ve noticed.”

“Is there anything I can—”

“No. There’s nothing,” Felix said, short and clipped. Sylvain didn't need to ask to guess what Felix was worried about.

“I meant what I said. If I know he’s in my timeline, I’ll find a way to push him back.”

Felix was silent for a moment and then turned to him. He spoke almost spitefully. “And what if he’s lost in the void? None of us would know.”

“You would, and you’ll find a way to find him. Just like how I’ll always find a way back to you.”

There’s a quiet pause, occupied by the sound of hooves meeting the ground below them.

“I know,” said Felix quietly. Sylvain snuck a sidelong glance at him—Felix sat ramrod straight, with a familiar tension settled at his jaw, and his fists clenched around the stiff leather of his reins. The sight of him makes Sylvain’s pang uncomfortably.

“I know you’ll worry no matter what I or anyone else says. But I trust the professor. I’m sure she’ll have a solution even if the switch doesn’t work.’

“I suppose,” said Felix, but the tension of his shoulders withdrew a little. He huffed. “Why do you always know what to say?”

“Well, you married me for a reason, didn’t you?”

“I married you for many reasons. Your good counsel, your patience. Your strength and intelligence. Your kind heart, too.”

“I’m not a nice person.”

“That’s not true. You are to the right people,” said Felix.

“To you.”

“You’re _honest_ with me. I appreciate that above all else. So don’t forget that.”

Sylvain was struck by the feeling that he should record that advice into his heart.

“Not my good looks?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t marry me for my dashingly handsome visage?”

Felix stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. Ouch.

“You’re pretty enough to be a trophy husband, but you’re a fool if you think that’s why I married you,” said Felix. Like most of his compliments, it was wrapped in playful teasing.

“I kind of want to hug you right now,” said Sylvain. 

Felix shoots him a look, almost amused. “Maybe later.”

He nudged his horse to move faster, and he trotted away towards the sunset.

***

The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful. By the time they had made it to the plains of Airmid, their convoy was exhausted at the unforgiving pace Felix had set them on through the past week.

They said little as they made camp and went to sleep. The unspoken expectation that they would rest later lingered. The return journey back to Gautier would be at a kinder pace, once Felix was pacified by the presence of his true husband.

Sylvain woke up at dawn. As he left his tent, he noted that the rest of the camp was quiet. A few of the guards chatted amicably near the edge of camp where they kept watch. The only other sounds were simple birdsong and soft wind. 

There weren’t many people walking about, but the professor was up, and setting up firewood near the remnants of the campfire. He approached quietly, careful not to wake anyone else. She nodded at him when she noticed his presence.

“You couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

She smiled. _I slept plenty. I’ve made it a habit to rise with the sun. If anything, it’s rather strange to see you up so early._

Sylvain grinned, and walked towards her. He crouched down to help her build the new campfire. “I tossed and turned a bit.”

 _It’s understandable to be nervous._ She flicked him gently in the arm.

“I’m not nervous,” he said resolutely.

 _Though the word does not grace your lips, the emotion shows in your eyes._ The professor playfully bopped his head with a stick. He tugged it out of her hands and added it to the pile.

“Alright, alright. You caught me. Time travel is unsettling. I don’t know much about it.”

_Despite my extensive experience, time travel is still very unsettling._

He winced. "Professor, aren't you supposed to comfort me in my time of need?"

_Please, Sylvain, don't tease. Have pity on an old woman._

That made Sylvain smile. The professor did not look a day older than twenty-one. Unlike Felix with his delicate crow’s feet or Sylvain and his softening tummy and weathered face, she showed no signs of aging; she had smooth, luminous skin with nary a wrinkle in sight. 

"Professor, you look as beautiful as you were the day I met you. I wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise.”

She shook her head. _You’re a flatterer. Shouldn’t you save your compliments for the person you like?_

He gave her a cheeky smile, and fell into old habits. “Maybe if I fall in love.”

_Haven’t you? You’ve never been a good liar, Sylvain. It shows in your eyes._

He sighed. “It’s not much fun teasing like this when you can see through me like this.”

_You’ve never been as hard to read as you think you are._

“You wound me, professor.”

_I try._

The professor stood up and admired their handiwork. _Could you start it? Your fire magic is better than mine._

Sylvain concentrated his magic into heat and warmth, and then into a stream of almost-sunlight. He channelled it through his index finger and touched the dry wood gently. Performing small magic was tricky. It required restraint. Perhaps his future self was adept in such matters, but this had him collecting sweat on his brow.

He watched it burn. Higher, higher and higher. He’s reminded by the orange of the autumn leaves of Garreg Mach, and the fire and rust of warfare.

As much as he hated it, he had a duty to return to that. He had to go home. 

He stared at the fire as he thought it through. Should he wait? What was one more morning to say goodbye? After more than a week away from home? 

But he couldn’t. Goddess, he had no idea what was happening in his time. Was his future-self wandering around in his body? What if his body had disappeared? What if he _had_ died? What would he return to? His thoughts lead back to his friends, especially Felix. If something _was_ wrong, he knows they’d be worried. He can’t, in good conscience, delay his return. He’s not sure if future-Felix would mind if he just… left. Wouldn’t he be happier to wake up to the sight of his _real_ husband?

He turned to the professor. “Could we do it now?”

 _You don’t want to say goodbye?_ Her smile was sly. He could see her look at Felix’s tent from the corner of her eye.

“I think it’ll be easier if I just go,” he said, stubbornly refusing to look in the same direction.

_Easier doesn’t mean right, Sylvain._

He looked at her. Perhaps some of his conflict he felt manifested on his face, because the professor's eyes softened after a moment.

_I’ll humour you. Now, here’s what you need to know…_

He listened attentively and committed her explanation to memory. 

_That should be everything. Once you’re in position, just wait for my signal._

She patted him on the shoulder. _The truth is, you probably won’t remember everything that happened here,_ _especially the specifics_ , signed the professor. _Don’t be too alarmed about it._

Sylvain thought mournfully of the fonder memories he collected; the scent of Felix’s perfumed hair, the feel of him in his bed, and the warm, fluttery feeling he felt in his stomach whenever he saw Felix dote on their son. He didn’t want to lose them. He felt a little despondent thinking about it. The professor patted his arm again in comfort.

They moved away from their camp under the cover of the forest towards the plains of the grasslands.

_Go to the middle of the field. I don’t remember where you fell, but it wasn’t on the edge of the battleground. The closer we can get, the better._

Sylvain nodded. “Aye, aye captain.”

He started to walk forward, wading in the knee-high grass. It itched and slowed him down. 

“Sylvain,” called a familiar voice. 

Sylvain jolted and turned, a smile taut on his face. Felix stared back, with a fierce light in his eyes and determined set to his mouth. 

Felix suddenly ran forward, cutting through the foliage with his knees. He grabbed Sylvain’s collar and yanked him forward. Unbalanced, Sylvain stumbled a little before resting his hands on Felix’s shoulder and waist. Sylvain opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could Felix surged up to meet his mouth and swallowed his words. Sylvain melted into the kiss, lips soft and pliant, and allowed Felix to ravage him. He kissed back dazedly, chasing the last vestiges of their combined warmth. He would not have this when he returned. Not for a while. Not if he planned on courting Felix properly. He indulged for a moment.

When they separated, Felix’s eyes were full of mischief. The same spark Sylvain saw in him at the beginning of this whirlwind trip was back.

“Good luck,” said Felix, smugly. “Stay safe, or I’ll know.”

“I—uh. Same to you,” said Sylvain dazedly. His lips were swollen, and his head felt full of cotton wool. All he saw was Felix. 

He opened his arms expectantly. Felix let him stand there for a moment like that, looking like a fool, before stepping into his gentle embrace for a quick, brief hug.

After a moment, he stepped back and watched Sylvain expectantly.

“I’m just gonna—I’m gonna go,” said Sylvain, with a jerk of his thumb.

The corners of Felix’s mouth quirked up. “Go, then. I’ll see you soon.”

Sylvain turned around, but he could not control the grin that took over his face, nor the giddy feeling that settled in his stomach. He walked a few more yards before settling into the centre of the field.

The professor waved at him—that was her signal. He waved back and nodded. She gestured at him weirdly, tilted her head, blinked, and— 

  
  
  


—Sylvain woke up in an unfamiliar place. It felt like he’d woken up from a long, strange dream. Fragments of it danced in his mind, but he remembered very little of it. The more he chased the memory, the further it flitted away.

He shivered. It was cold and drafty. He moved his arm to adjust the blanket, but even that was enough to make him groan in pain. 

“Don’t move,” said a harsh and steely voice.

Sylvain turned his head towards the source. 

It was Felix. His Felix. His eye bags were dark, and the boldness of his cheekbones were more prominent than usual. His skin was a touch pale, and his hair was oily and tangled. His arm was set in a splint, worn over simple, soldier’s garb. 

He was no lord, nor the richly-clothed spouse of one. He was no confident father of one, nor a doting knight-master of many. He was not a man who would look at him with certain expectations or suspicion. He was just a young man, waiting by the bedside of a dear friend. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Felix,” he croaked.

“You sound like a dying wreck,” Felix said with a sneer, but he helped Sylvain raise his head, and offered him a drink from his flask. 

Sylvain shakily took it from him, but as if unsatisfied with Sylvain’s unstable grip, he snatched it from him, unwound the lid, and rested the opening at Sylvain’s lips, tilting it gently. Sylvain drank a few, pained gulps before he tilted his head back from it. Felix set the flask down and helped him settle back down with gentle hands.

“You look well,” said Sylvain after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Funny, I can’t say the same to you,” retorted Felix.

“Are you mad at me?” asked Sylvain with an amused huff.

“I’m always mad at you,” Felix said. The tips of his ears were a little red, and his brows were scrunched up in irritation. He reminded Sylvain a bit of a sulking cat who wanted their displeasure to be known.

“Don’t be mad, Fe,” Sylvain cooed placatingly. 

“ _Don’t_ use your lines on me, you absolute fool,” hissed Felix. “What were you thinking, rushing in like that? You weren’t going to accomplish anything by leaving your battalion behind.”

He doesn’t remember much of what happened, and his tongue is ready to make excuses. But he heard a faint voice say, _I value honesty over all else._ And so he said, “I’m sorry. When I saw you fighting those beasts alone, I panicked.”

“I can take care of myself,” said Felix. But Sylvain’s eyes are drawn to Felix’s artfully splinted right arm, and the dark, mottling bruises that line his throat and disappear under his collar. If he was a betting man, he would wager those bruises painted Felix’s collarbone and ribs, too, like the wine purple of the ocean meeting the ice-pale coastline.

“You do look better than me.”

Felix made a low noise in his throat that was almost… hurt? “I need you to take these things seriously. Stop acting so recklessly. Train more. Don’t use this war as an excuse for you to—for you to—”

“I want to stay alive,” Sylvain interrupted. “I want a future, with the one I love. Kids, maybe. I’ll survive this war. If we win.”

He watched Felix’s face closely and saw how his eyelashes trembled when he mentioned a partner and children. Was he still dreaming? There was something almost familiar— no. He must be remembering wrong.

“We'll win,” said Felix, finally, resolutely looking away from Sylvain's eyes. Sylvain caught the downward slope of Felix's uninjured shoulder with his gaze and tasted his vulnerability.

Sylvain slowly reached out towards Felix’s empty hands and took them into his. He revelled in his touch, and in the fact that Felix didn’t pull away. The warmth of Felix’s palms against his seeped through him like melting snow in the dawn of spring. It burned.

He tugged at his hands until Felix could no longer ignore the nudging and looked at him again.

His Felix has never been a person who valued words over actions, but Sylvain could clearly picture him saying, 'I don't want a future without you' in his mind's eye, printed clear like black ink against crisp parchment.

Sylvain smiled reassuringly. “In the meantime, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll stay alive together, right? Till death do us part.”

“Don’t. If you mockery of that, Sylvain, I swear—” 

“I’m not. I’ll stay alive as long as you will, Felix."

“If you go back on your word, I’ll bring you back to life and kill you myself," Felix grumbled.

"I'll crawl out of hell if I have to, Fe, but I'll always find a way back to you."

Felix looked him dead in the eye, solid and unwavering, as permanent as a wax seal on a contract. "I'll hold you to that."

Sylvain knows he will.

He's counting on it. He's fully awake now, the last vestiges of his rather vivid dream settled down at the back of his mind. Why does he need to dream of Felix when he has the man in front of him? 

He squeezed Felix's hand in his again and his heart hammered when he felt Felix squeeze back.

He's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, massive thanks to Ning ([euphemea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea)) for betaing this for me. I took some of her suggestions verbatim, they're that good. If you enjoyed this fic, please check out her stuff too, she's written A LOT of FE3H fic.
> 
> Any other mistakes are my own, because I made a lot of changes w/o telling Ning haha.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter at [Feroxai_](https://twitter.com/Feroxai_)


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